


always just two

by circus (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/circus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispered through bleeding lips, before he collapsed into his younger brother.</p><p> </p><p>Sam awkwardly stumbled back at the sudden load of Dean shoved into him, but managed to steady himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Dean?”</p><p> </p><p>Nope, no answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always just two

Sam was bored, okay. This was the first time that he, _Sam_ , was mooching around uselessly and that he, _Dean_ , was not. And it was boring, boring, boring and it sucked lemons.

“First demon hunting with a few monsters as well,” Sam mouthed into the air, repeating what his father had said, and made a face. Big deal. He could at least have stayed in the car or something. But _nooo_. Daddy dear had said that little Sammy must stay at home. Like a flippin’ _girl_.

Alright so maybe he was being more bitchy than the situation called for, but he was honestly done with all this bull. Like honestly _honestly_.

Sam wearily looked at dirty motel window, which sported a huge crack - “Serves you right for being grimy,” he told it rather irrelevantly - and his eyes shifted to the calendar on its right. He scowled for the umpteenth time. Sure, Dad had scribbled the woman out with permanent marker, but seriously? Who put Miss Birthday Suit calendars in motel rooms where the two thirds of the occupants were barely teenagers? Shaking his head sagely, he turned his attention back to the TV which refused to show him anything other than frizzy lines of gray and white.

If anyone else had been in the room, they would’ve guessed an eighty year old monk with a deep past and hidden wisdom was residing in it, judging by the sigh and, “Dear saints above,” that came out of Sam’s mouth. He flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I’m bored, okay,” he announced to the blue wallpaper.  
Nothing answered. “Yeah, I love you, too,” the boy muttered.

“Demons,” he said, suddenly.  
“Sheep.”  
“Ballerina.”  
He was basically saying anything in his head to pass the time.  
“Dean’s short!” Sam stated into his pillow.  
“Dad’s cool.” A pensive stare was directed at John’s bed.  
“I’m awesome.” The mirror and what it reflected was admired.

  
Hours passed and Sam walked around the room.

  
Sometimes he put his sneakers on and off in the middle for more time killage.

He was half-heartedly jumping on Dean’s bed when he heard the Jeep rumble. Sam grinned and leaped onto the floor, sliding a little on the floor because of his socks. “I’m a flipping ninja!” he yelled, before opening the door.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean whispered through bleeding lips, before he collapsed into his younger brother.

  
Sam awkwardly stumbled back at the sudden load of Dean shoved into him, but managed to steady himself.

  
“Dean?”

  
Nope, no answer.

  
Sam shuffled around the motel room to Dean’s bed and sort of let him fall onto the bed. Dean grunted, blood and intestine remains on his skin rubbing off on the sheets. The younger boy almost kicked himself.

Why didn’t he let Dean fall onto the tub? No, he had to be a genius and let him spread gore on the sheets, so Dean might have _greater_ chance of infection.

 _“Always clean up before just falling asleep,” John had always said. “The blood from the monsters might get through into your pores. And human doctors don’t really have cures for paranormally infectious diseases.”_ Sam found the last sentence funny, but with Dean innocently snoring in front of him, his view suddenly changed.

“Well, Dean,” Sam said in a loud, cheerfully fake voice. “Can’t have you growing green bumps all over your forehead!”

Sam rolled up his sleeves, filled the bathtub, got out some soap and pulled down the toilet lid. “Okay, Dean, you can sit on the toilet!” he yelled, then groaned as he remembered Dean’s state.

Some lugging ensued, with curses from Sam and mumbles from Dean. “You… don’t… have to be so… _heavy_!” Sam grunted as he left Dean fall unceremoniously on the toilet seat. Dean blinked his eyes, then, and whispered, “Pina coladas,” before drifting back off. Sam stared at him. “You’re a crackpot,” he stated. Dean really woke up at that. “Then what does that make you, a princess?”  
“Well I didn’t just mess my sheets, with entrails of some bitchy dragon and I don’t know, blue blood?”  
“Am I supposed to take my clothes off, bitch?” Dean ignored him.  
“Yeah, you stupid jerk,” Sam glared.  
“Well I know I was attractive but I don’t think it’ll be healthy if you looked at me like that while I strip. Or if you were in my presence at all while I strip.”

Sam was awkward in these situations and the world knew it. He ran out of the bathroom without bothering to think of a comeback.

__

Dean was never one for long baths so when an hour had passed and Sam had scrubbed the very color off the shets and the bathroom was silent, Sam began to worry. “Um, Dean?”  
“Dean!”  
“Dean, you in there?”

No answer.

Sam let out a frustrated growl and stormed into the bathroom. Neck deep in bubbled, Dean was asleep. Well. This was awkward.

“Um.”

” _Motherfucker_!” Dean screamed, suddenly sitting up straight in the bathtub. “Don’t you dare even think of pointing that - wait, what?”

“Sleeping Beauty in a bathtub is what. Please get dressed.”  
And for once, Dean looked appropriately embarrassed.

__

Sam was really tired. Making dinner, scrubbing bedsheets and lugging his unconscious brother around for three hours had that effect on him. He really hated himself, sometimes. His elder brother had just gone on a hunt for five hours and here he was, getting all weak over chores.

Dean was eating chicken while sitting on the counters and Sam was wandering tiredly around the room. “Dad’s at Bobby’s?” Sam asked for the fourth time.

“Yeah, gonna stay the night there.”

“Hmm.”

And suddenly Sam’s knees gave way and he plummeted into Dean’s bed. “Sam?” Dean raised an alarmed eyebrow. “Sammy?”

Sam was tired, okay. His body had just shut down.

  
Dean raced to his little brother and slapped him. Deep in his unconsciousness, his Sammy frowned.

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean breathed, relieved. He propped Sam against the pillows and sat at the foot of the bed, staring at him. He took in his pale face, the drawn lines across his cheeks, the worried forehead and curly brown hair. The way the mouth was turned down slightly and the hands were clenched, even in sleep.

Dean leaned forward, unthinking, and gathered his little Sammy in his arms, breathing heavy. “I’m sorry, Sammy.” his voice shook into his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m barely there for you.” He forced his forehead onto Sam’s shoulder, eyelashes wet.

Sam was aware of nothing except a wonderfully familiar arms, holding him up, and a wonderfully familiar shoulder supporting his cheek, and he smiled in his sleep as Dean rocked him back and forth.


End file.
